Stoker Scenes: Kids
by Ariane Rivendell
Summary: Three vignettes in the life of Mike Stoker. Each chapter is a different story.
1. Chapter 1

"Emergency!" characters are the property of Mark VII and Universal. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters belong to me and are not to be used without my permission.

**Stoker Scenes: Kids**

by Ariane Rivendell

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><p><strong>Los Angeles County Fire Department<strong>

**Pumping Apparatus Training Manual **

**Chapter 6:** **Unicorns, Rainbows and Glitter**

The little girl obediently walked along as Stoker took her by the hand and led her around the front of the engine to the pump panel. "…and we can put about 500 gallons of water in here and take it with us to the fire. There's a lot of things this big girl can do; just like you," Mike proudly announced, hoping that last remark would help connect his discerning guest to her tour guide.

The little girl yawned.

Roy DeSoto followed languidly behind them with a gentle grin. Settling himself at the Squad, he leaned an elbow on the hood, "So much for quitting your day job, Mike."

"She's a special guest, Roy, who requires special handling. It's just a matter of fine-tuning a few things here and there so she'll feel comfortable."

Curiosity finally lit up the little girl's face as she discovered the fire engine's shiny intake valve. Jennifer peered at it, scrunching up her nose and watching her reflection. "What is _this_ for?" she asked, giggling at herself and the funny faces she was making.

"Well, that's where we hook up the hose to the hydrant to put water inside the engine," Stoker proudly patted Big Red in explanation.

The funny faces morphed into a pout and shoulders sagged a mite at Stoker's mundane and ho-hum answer. Curiosity somewhat deflated, she nevertheless raised her head, the bright glint muted in her eyes as they roamed the panel's confusing collection of levers, knobs and switches hoping to find something that would elicit a response with greater flamboyance and hutzpah. "What does that one do?" she pointed then reeled her hand in as if worried she'd touch the engine and it'd feel all ooky.

"This here?" Stoker tapped a gauge.

Jennifer vigorously nodded making her pony-tail flop up and down with her gyrations.

"This just tells me the pressure of the water being pumped out of the engine. It doesn't actually make anything happen."

Jennifer's face scrunched up in disappointment at that wholly pedestrian and unimpressive explanation and she looked around some more, suddenly realizing that this fire engine business was starting to sound like boring boy stuff. "What does that one do?" she pointed, elbow down, finger and voice drooped with bare interest.

Mike noted Jennifer's depleted enthusiasm and glanced out of the corner of his eye at Roy, who spiked an eyebrow in shared observation. "Well," Mike kneeled next to the 4-year old and leaned in, a glint in his eye, "that one causes rainbows to appear."

Jennifer breathed in, eyes bright and round with delight. She peered at the pump panel. Now _that_ wasn't boring boy stuff at all! "What does _that_ one do?"

Roy shook his head and rubbed his brow. He crossed his arms in silent watchful vigil over the mischievous road his colleague was suddenly taking and, more importantly, the aftermath that would eventually befall _him_.

"This makes marshmallows," Mike answered, pointing to the vacuum switch.

Jennifer's mouth rounded in surprise. "What does _that_ one do?" she continued, her voice rising in earnest, eyes big with hope and wonder, eager to hear what grand and fun stuff Uncle Mike was going to come up with, next.

"This one shoots glitter out into the sky."

Jennifer inhaled deeply at that amazing idea.

"Fantastic," Roy scolded.

"Can you make it shoot glitter now?" Jennifer was nearly beside herself with excitement.

"Yeah, Stoker, when are you going to glitter up my engine?" Cap asked, stealthily appearing on the driver's side of the squad, leaning on the hood, and shooting Mike an expectant look.

Roy threw his captain a disdainful look. "Don't you start."

Raised eyebrows, a subtly self-pointed finger, and a questioning look of pure innocence was aimed at the rescue paramedic.

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh. You know, sometimes you two are worse than Johnny and Chet," he scolded, finger waving between Engineer and Captain.

Captain Stanley aimed a particularly pained expression before chuckling as Roy rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his daughter.

"Sorry, Jennifer," Mike flicked an answering glance in his captain's direction before turning to his young charge. "The engine has to be turned on and the captain, here, won't let me do that."

"How come?"

"Because he hasn't finished his chores, yet," Captain Stanley answered for his wayward engineer, eyebrows spiking in amusement.

"It's too bad we don't have a foam truck," Mike said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

"Whats-a foam truck?" came Jennifer's squeaky voice as she craned her head all the way back to take in the full height of the tall engineer.

"A foam truck makes cotton candy to feed the unicorns."

Jennifer squealed then ran to her father and nearly leaped into his arms. "Daddy! We need to get a foam truck so we can feed the unicorns!"

Roy groaned at the shrieking battering ram his daughter had suddenly become and he shifted her weight as he held her in his arms, stealing a long-suffering glare at Stoker. "Well, we don't have any unicorns to feed, honey."

"Can we get one?"

"You have to catch one, first. And they're awfully hard to catch."

"How hard, Daddy?"

"Ever try to catch a rainbow?"

Jennifer shook her head and pouted.

"Well, try catching one and you'll know how hard it is to catch a unicorn. C'mon, let's go home. Mommy's waiting for us."

Roy loosened his hold and he helped Jennifer slide down. Gripping her hand in his, Roy led Jennifer out through the back of the bay and turned back to the lean engineer. "Thanks a lot, Mike," he said drily.

"Yeah. No problem, Roy," Mike replied in a business-like tone, grabbing a rag from a compartment.

"Enjoy the rest of your vacation, Roy," Cap waved.

"Yeah. No thanks to Stoker." Roy threw Mike a wry grin and soon father and daughter were in the car and headed for home.

"Cotton candy to feed the unicorns," Captain Stanley snorted, shook his head with a soft smile and retreated back to his office.

Hiding his smirk, Mike returned his attention back to polishing his beloved Big Red.


	2. Heart to Heart

**Heart to Heart**

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><p><strong>AN**: The term "black" was used extensively in the 1970's, rather than the more contemporary "African-American", and so is used in this story.

"Higher!" the kids shouted from the back of the apparatus bay, squealing and laughing. After a few moments, the shout went up again, "Higher!"

The aerial ladder of Truck 116, parked in the side entrance, reached out, fully extended over the back parking lot of Station 51, and toward the herd of puffy clouds that lazed in the sky.

Colby Urquhart, Truck 116s rookie, had been volunteered by his company to perform this particular demonstration to the school children and so continued a few more steps up the ladder, his helmet and coat a dark silhouette against the sky. Then he stopped at the midpoint and crossed his arms.

"Higher!" came the shout from far below.

Probationary Fireman Urquhart shook his head.

"Higher!" came the louder and shriller prepubescent demand.

Urquhart shook his head again, this time, more vehemently.

A lone, teeny voice in the sea of children yelled out an enterprising idea. Colby cupped a hand to his ear and the idea was quickly relayed from pupil to teacher to fire captain. Captain Percy Hightower nodded, brought the bullhorn up to his lips and matter-of-factly announced, "Colby, we'll give you milk and cookies if you climb higher."

The children yelled, clapped and cheered their encouragement to the intractable young firefighter.

Colby cocked his head skyward, put a hand to his mouth, and tapped a gloved finger against his lips. Then he splayed his hands in supplication, nodded, and pushed on to the screaming delight of the children below.

"Kid's got some real talent for hamming it up," Marco Lopez shouted over the din to his fellow crewmen.

The Engine and Squad crews of Station 51 were watching the spectacle from the sidelines of the apparatus bay, amid the sprawl of hoses that snaked from the back end of the bay to the driveway, where Big Red lay silently waiting.

The small school group of second-graders from the nearby Catholic school was enjoying their visit to the fire station that morning, complete with hose demonstrations and a competition as to who could put on their gear the fastest. Between Captains Stanley and Hightower it was decided that the aerial ladder climb would be the most dramatic demonstration and so they'd end with that.

"Looks like you've got a fan," quipped Captain Stanley, who nudged Stoker in the ribs and hedged a nod toward a young black boy in a purple-and-white striped shirt at the back of the crowd who was staring at the tall engineer.

"He's been doing that all morning," Mike replied.

A young petite black woman with a long denim skirt and a blue headscarf tied at the nape of her neck had been standing behind the children. She'd noticed the exchange and kneeled down next to the boy. They exchanged a few words and the young boy returned his attention to the rookie fireman climbing the ladder.

The woman rose and stepped over to Captain Stanley, smiling wanly. "His name is Reginald. He's my son."

"Captain Stanley," Cap proffered a hand and the two shook hands.

"Wilma Turlock," she offered. "I'm sorry if he made your man uncomfortable."

"Not at all," Cap reassured her. "We're used to it. Kids and firemen tend to go together, I guess."

Wilma smiled as she watched her son. "I understand. Reginald's a little different. He is so shy. But it's gotten worse since his father died."

"Oh, I'm…sorry to hear that, ma'am."

"Wilma, please. Viet Nam, a year ago. I can't deny it's been hard," her voice became thick and she cleared her throat.

Cap grimaced and put his hands on his hips. "That's rough."

"Yeah. We're still learning how to survive. Listen to me, I'm sorry. I'm just carryin' on."

Reginald returned his attention back to Stoker who smiled back at him.

Suddenly, the kids began to whoop and holler and Cap and Mike looked up at Colby Urquhart, who was three-quarters of the way from the top and putting on a dramatic display of being too exhausted to carry on. The assembled kids screamed and cheered their encouragement, hoping to give the overly-fatigued firefighter the Herculean strength to make it to the very tippy-top.

At the noise, Reginald leaped up, and grabbed his mother's legs. Wilma bent down and picked him up and cradled him as he snuggled against her neck. "Ohhh, Reggie, you're gettin' so big." She turned to Captain Stanley, "I'm so sorry to ask you this. Can I take him out front? I think the noise is scaring him."

"Oh, sure. Be my guest," Captain Stanley gestured.

Wilma carried her son through the bay and out to the front driveway, where she held and bounced him in her arms next to Big Red's silent bulk.

"Think he'd want to sit in the driver's seat?"

Wilma turned, astonished, at the sudden form of Mike Stoker. "Oh! I…No, no we shouldn't impose on you like that."

"It's no problem. Here," Mike opened up the driver's side door.

Wilma turned to her boy. "Reggie? You want sit in a fire engine?"

Little Reginald nodded and Wilma placed him in the driver's seat. Reginald gripped the steering wheel and wiggled his way into a more comfortable sitting position. He growled engine noises and turned the wheel as much as he could manage as he pretended to drive, his little legs dangling off the edge of the seat.

The crowd behind them roared.

"I guess he made it to the top," Stoker surmised.

"I'm sorry? Oh, the fireman on the ladder," Wilma said, laughing. She turned to look behind and the kids were cheering madly. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"You can sit with him in the officer's seat, if you'd like," Mike invited Wilma.

Wilma shook her head, but her eyes danced between Stoker and her son and with a shy smile, she finally relented. She walked around the front of the rig and with a gentle "click", she opened the cab door and hauled herself up and into the seat. Sitting gingerly inside, Wilma scrunched up her small frame and looked around the cab, excited and yet nervous about this unexpectedly thrilling opportunity to play fireman.

"C'mon, Mama. We have to get to the fire," Reginald ordered and he put pedal to the metal in his guttural vocalizations of the engine revving as he steered Big Red to the fire.

"Hold on a second. You can't go to the fire unless you have your hat on." Mike reached behind the seat, grabbed his helmet and gently set it atop Reginald's afro, careful not to mess up the boy's hair. Mike set the chin strap and Reginald responded with vigorous steering and a louder, racing engine.

"Here, scoot on over to your mom while I get in. Then you can sit on my lap and see out the window."

Reginald did and Mike swung himself in then grabbed the boy. Reginald settled on Mike's lap, his hands back on the wheel and steering.

"Can you see?"

"Uh huh."

"I really appreciate this," Wilma said, a grin lighting up her face as she watched her son.

"It's no problem, ma'am," Mike smiled at her.

"We have to turn on the siren," Reginald pointed out.

"No, honey. We're not gonna sound the siren," Wilma firmly intoned, her face exhibiting a bit of a panicked look.

"No siren," Mike agreed. "But we can put the lights on."

Reginald's face lit up. "Can we?" he beamed at Stoker.

"Oh, now, I don't want to cause any trouble," Wilma reiterated, her hands raised in hesitation.

"No problem," Mike assured her. "Son, go ahead and reach over your right shoulder."

Reginald stopped steering and turned toward the driver's window.

"The other shoulder," Mike corrected as he removed the helmet from the boy's head.

"Oh." Reginald turned the other way.

"You see that switch there? On the seat?"

Reginald wriggled in Mike's lap, craned his neck and pointed as Mike watched. "This one?"

"Yep, that's the one. Go ahead and flip it."

Reginald reached over and did and looked around the cab. "I don't see nothin'."

"Come out here. The lights are outside on the top." Mike held the youngster and clambered down as Wilma did the same. Mike lifted Reginald into his arms to better see the lights swirling.

"Mama! Do you see? I turned the lights on!"

"I can see that, Reggie. That's very good. I think we've taken up enough of the kind fireman's time."

"Nonsense, we're just getting started," Mike answered and climbed back in and set the boy on his lap.

Reginald continued to steer Big Red to the fire as Mike answered the boy's questions about the various buttons, knobs, and levers that he saw in the cab.

An eruption of cheering sounded behind them and Stoker peered into the rearview mirror. "Looks like he made it off the aerial ladder."

Wilma followed Mike's gaze and looked into the side mirror. "Yeah, I think you're right. That's our cue, then. Reginald, honey, time to put out the fire and go home. Our work here is done."

"'kay, Mom."

"Fire's out, Reginald. Good job," Mike said. He and Reginald exchanged a high-five and the two climbed out of the rig.

Wilma walked around to grab her son's hand.

"Hold on. You forgot to turn the lights off," Mike pointed out. He hoisted the young boy back into the cab to turn off the lights, then hoisted him back out to his mother.

"What do you say, Reginald Turlock?"

"Thank you, Mr. Fire Man."

"You're welcome."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Wilma said.

"Mike Stoker."

"Mike Stoker," Wilma repeated, her hand firmly holding the young Reginald's. "Mr. Stoker, thank you. _Really_. From the bottom of my heart. This really meant a lot to both of us."

"It was my pleasure."

"You know he's gonna be bragging about this for a looong time," Wilma laughed.

"Come back, anytime."

"Thank you," she whispered then walked into the bay to join the rest of the school group, turning back once to wave at Mike.

Mike waved back and watched them rejoin the class.

**[one week later]**

"Mike! You got company," Cap called from the back of the apparatus bay.

Stoker came out from the cab of the engine to find Wilma and Reginald walking in from the back parking lot.

"Hi!" Wilma greeted, beaming.

"Hi, Reginald, Mrs. Turlock," Mike answered, meeting them halfway in the bay.

"I'm sorry to have come unannounced. We came by yesterday and the nice gentleman told us you'd be here, today, so here we are."

"Nice to see you, again. How're you doing, Reginald?"

"Good," the boy answered, swinging his arm while his mother held his hand as he hid behind her.

"I brought something I wanted you to see," Wilma offered as explanation for her presence. A shy expression crossed her face, "When we got home, I realized why Reginald had taken so much of a liking to you." Wilma dug into her purse and brought out a photo and showed it to the tall engineer. The picture showed two soldiers hamming it up for the camera - a black soldier and a white soldier, their arms around each other's shoulders amid a jungle setting. The white soldier held a remarkable resemblance to Stoker; they could pass as brothers. "This is my husband, Leon, with one of his best buddies from 'Nam. His name is Gary Rhinequist. Gary's the one who sent us this picture after we found out that Leon had been killed."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," was all Mike could think of to say, his eyes transfixed on the uncanny resemblance he held to the man in the picture.

"Reginald – and I – wanted to give you something. To thank you for last week."

"You didn't need to do that, Mrs. Turlock."

"Please. We want you to have it."

Wilma proffered a purple heart medal to Mike, who simply looked at it as she placed it in his hands. "My husband…got two of these. Reggie and I figured…well, there's one for us. I think my husband would have wanted you to have this one." She bowed her head for a moment and sighed a little. "You know, Reggie really has changed since that day. He's more social and he's more interested in school. You have no idea what that means to me," her voice wavered. "Thank you, Mr. Stoker," she whispered. "From all of us."

"Thank you," Mike swallowed hard. "This will be treasured."

"Now we've _really_ taken up enough of your time and _someone_ has to get to school," Wilma laughed, tickling her son, who giggled madly. She turned back to Mike, "_Please_ take care. Bye."

"Bye. Bye Reginald."

"Bye!" the seven-year old yelled out, his voice echoing in the bay.

Captain Stanley, chuckling to himself at the boy, joined up with Stoker. "Mike? What's going on?" he asked, noting the younger man's glistening eyes as his fingers traced the silhouetted bust of George Washington in relief upon a small combat decoration.

Mike watched the pair head out to the parking lot and cleared this throat. "A little boy with less of a broken heart."

Captain Stanley gently jostled his engineer by the nape of the neck before quietly slipping past him to the dayroom. Stoker waved as Wilma and Reggie left then glanced back at the medal, the weight of it seemingly too light for the heavy load it carried. He smiled wanly then slipped it into his shirt pocket for safekeeping before returning to preparing the Engine for their shift.


	3. Artfully Dodged

**Artfully Dodged**

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><p><em>Written around Chet's shoulder injury in "Syndrome", written by Michael Donovan<em>

Stoker heard before he saw the percussive sputter of playing cards in bicycle spokes. Swinging closed the tool compartment on the Officer's side of the rig, he peeked through the windshield to see three boys riding up to the station. The tallest of the boys had short brown hair and wore a blue t-shirt with jeans and black shoes. The middle boy had dirty-blond hair and wore a brown plaid shirt and tan pants while the smallest boy sported a red t-shirt and jeans.

Mike stepped around the front of Big Red to meet the boys as they reached the bay.

"Hi! We're here to see Chet," the tallest of the boys announced.

"He have another trick for you guys?" Mike asked.

"We're not sure. But he told us to come by today."

"Hey, Johnny," Mike called.

Johnny peeked out from the back of the Squad, a polishing rag in hand. "Yeah? Oh, hey fellas."

"Hi," the boys chorused.

"Call Chet, will you?" Mike requested.

"Sure. Chet!" Gage called, head angling toward the dayroom as the three 10-year-old boys waited on their bikes in front of the apparatus bay.

"_I_ coulda done that," Mike muttered.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sorry," Johnny flashed a shy grin, laid aside the rag, and stepped over to meet the kids.

"Yeah, I'm comin', I'm comin'," came a groused voice from the dayroom. Fireman Chet Kelly emerged with broom and dustpan, looking around the bay. "What now, Gage?"

"Your acolytes are here," Johnny answered, throwing a wink at the kids.

Chet peeked around the Squad. At the sight of the three youngsters, he laid aside the cleaning items then sauntered over to the boys. "Alright, gentlemen. Show me what you got," he said, folding his arms.

"Well, we didn't have time to learn another card trick," the tallest of the three replied.

"Why not?" Chet wondered.

"'Cause 'Goldfinger' and 'The Man From U.N.C.L.E!' were on TV yesterday!" the shortest boy exclaimed excitedly.

"Hey, that's pretty cool. You guys like that spy stuff, huh?" Kelly asked.

"Oh, yeah! It's real far-out," the tall one agreed.

"My brother said that magic and spy stuff are kinda the same, 'cause they're both about redirection," the smallest boy explained.

"Think your brother's got a point. Hey, you guys wanna see a new trick I learned?"

"Yeah!"

"Alright, stay here. Don't move, it'll take me a minute or so to set it up, okay?"

"Okay."

"Stoker and Johnny here'll keep you guys entertained till I come back."

The boys turned to the tall engineer as Chet headed into the dayroom.

The middle boy assessed Mike with a curious eye. "Do you work on the fire engine with Chet?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Whaddya do?"

"I drive the rig and work the pumps," Mike pointed to the pump panel.

"Whoa," the middle boy's eyes brightened in awe.

It was the smallest boy's turn to assess Gage. "Do you work with Chet on the fire truck?"

Johnny shook his head. "Well, actually, no. No, I don't."

"What do you do, then?"

"Well," Johnny beamed proudly and patted the Squad. "I'm a rescue fireman. This here's _my_ rig."

"Oh," came the disappointed chorus of all three kids.

"Whaddya mean 'oh'? Being a rescue fireman takes a lot of training and know-how. Way more than Chet, anyway."

"Do you rescue people?" the middle boy asked.

"Well, yeah," Johnny answered, his voice sounding deflated. "That's what a rescue fireman does."

"Well…do you…do you do stuff with the fire engine?"

"Sure. Sometimes."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's not so bad, then."

Johnny opened his mouth and was about to defend his profession when Chet backed out of the dayroom door with three Styrofoam™ cups and a small glass of water atop a tray and set it on the hood of the Squad.

"Hey, now! Roy and I just finished polishing that," Johnny protested.

"Well, just think how much shinier it'll be when you redo it."

"Chet…" Johnny growled.

Kelly waved away Johnny's annoyance. "Just…cool it, Gage. Give us room, will ya? Learn from a master." He ignored Johnny's indignant huff and continued on. "Now," he announced to the boys. "Watch carefully. I've got three cups here, all empty," he grabbed each cup and shook them to indicate there was nothing inside. "Empty?"

"Yeah," they nodded.

Mike leaned against Big Red with crossed ankles and folded arms, curious whether Chet's latest craze was going to work or blow up in his face. It was always an equal chance of either.

Chet placed the three cups on the tray, open-side up. "Okay. Now, see this glass of water? I'm going to pour this water into one of the cups. Watch."

He did and they did and soon the glass of water was emptied into one of the cups.

"I'm going to shuffle these around." Chet moved the cups on the tray. "Now, you guys tell me which cup has the water."

"The one on the end."

"Which end?" Chest asked.

"That end," the middle boy pointed.

"No, the one in the middle," the shortest boy answered.

"Okay, I'll make it easier," Chet said and grabbed a cup on the end and turned it upside down. "Alright, which one is it?"

"It's still the middle one," the shortest boy pouted.

"It's the other one," the taller boy said.

Chet turned the middle one upside down.

The taller boy laughed. "Ha! See! I told you it was the other one."

Chet shuffled the cups around and after the fourth shuffle, he quietly turned the last cup upside down and continued the move the cups around the tray.

After several moments, it suddenly occurred to the boys that all three cups were upside down and yet no water flowed from any of them. "Whoa!" they all exclaimed.

"How'd you do that?" the middle boy asked.

Chet stopped shuffling and turned a mischievous eye toward his young audience. "Redirection, my friend. Redirection."

The klaxons sounded just then, ushering in a bunch of firefighters who just got redirected from their other tasks.

"Okay, fellas, you know the rules," Chet said.

"Yeah. When the alarm sounds, we gotta beat it," the shorter boy said, sounding disappointed.

"Let's go figure out how he did that!" the taller boy announced and off the boys went, before the Squad and the Engine left the station to answer the call.

**[one week later]**

The tattle of cards in bicycle spokes sputtered to a series of asynchronous _thwacks_ as three bikes were walked between Big Red and the Squad, parked in the driveway.

Marco Lopez stopped sweeping the bay floor as three boys approached. "Hi!"

"Hi," the taller boy answered. "We came to show Chet our new magic trick."

"Oh, you did, huh? Well, wait right here," Marco suggested and headed for the hose tower behind the apparatus bay.

The Engine crew along with Charlie Wilson from C-shift were busy hoisting lines off the tower and laying them out in the parking lot.

Marco lowered his voice, the broom handle in his hand gesturing toward the front of the bay. "Hey, Cap. Those boys are here to see Chet, but…I don't wanna tell them he's been injured. What do I say?"

Cap's eyes narrowed and he peered through the empty bay to see three silhouettes with bikes. Stoker and Lopez traipsed after their captain as he strode through the bay, leaving Charlie Wilson to continue laying out the hoselines.

Johnny emerged from the dayroom with the mop and bucket and saw the boys near the rigs and the engine crew heading to meet them. "What's going on?" he asked.

Marco stepped over to the rescue fireman. "They came to see Chet, but I didn't want to tell them he got his shoulder wrecked."

"Oh, yeah…" Johnny agreed. He laid aside the cleaning items and followed the group.

"Hi, fellas," Captain Stanley clapped his hands in greeting.

"Hi. Is Chet around?" the tallest of the three boys asked.

Captain Stanley rubbed the side of his nose. "Uh, well, boys, I hate to tell you this, but, uh…he's not here today."

"Oh," the smaller boy answered. "He told us to come by today. We have a new magic trick to show him."

"Do you now?" Captain Stanley looked around at his crew, trying to give himself an extra few seconds to come up with a tactful explanation.

"Yeah! We worked on it all week," the middle boy replied excitedly.

"Do you know when he'll be back?" the smallest boy asked.

"It could be awhile. Fireman Kelly's been temporarily transferred to a top secret firehouse."

Three adult heads with furrowed brows slowly turned toward Mike Stoker while three pairs of youthful eyes widened in astonishment and awe.

"Whoa! A top secret firehouse! What do they _do_ there?" the middle boy asked, dumbfounded.

"They conduct top secret covert fire missions."

"Right on!" the taller boy exclaimed.

"What kind of stuff do they do?" the smallest boy asked.

"We can't tell you that."

"How long do the missions take?" the taller boy asked.

"Anywhere from a few days to a couple of months. It depends on the mission."

"Is he doing a long one or a short one?"

"Even we don't know. But probably a long one. Come back in a couple of months. He might be back by then."

"Coupla _months?_ Wow," the middle boy breathed in astonishment. "That must be some secret mission."

"I'm sure it will be," Captain Stanley shot his engineer a look. "Alright, fellas. Run along, now. We've got a lot of work to do," he gently shooed them out of the driveway.

The boys steered their bikes around. "I'll bet he'll get shot at," one boy said.

"No way! He's too smart for that. He'll probably drive a secret fire truck that has missiles that shoot out the back!"

"Ooh! I'll bet it can make smoke bombs…!"

Their voices faded as they raced away toward home, expounding on the intricacies and exciting details of top secret firehouse equipment.

Stoker headed back toward the hose tower.

"Mike?"

The engineer stopped in mid-step and turned around. "Yeah, Cap?"

Captain Stanley stepped up to his second-in-command. "A top secret _firehouse?_"

"Sure, Cap."

"Gotta admit, that was a…pretty interesting way to handle it. Remind me to have you answer the phone the next time HQ calls."

"Why's that?"

"So you can tell them where I've been transferred to."

"You realize, Mike, that they're gonna ask Chet all about his mission and he'll have no idea what they're talking about," Marco waggled his eyebrows.

"He'll make something up," Mike knowingly replied.

"That's probably true," Marco agreed. "And, you know, they'll believe him. Heck, _he'll_ believe him."

"Oh, I can't _wait_ to hear that," Johnny rubbed his hands together and sniggered as he gathered the mop and bucket.

"He can't tell them anyway. It _is_ a top secret firehouse," Stoker quipped.

Cap shook his head and chuckled as he shooed his crew back to their duties.


End file.
